Late shifts at surgery were really the worst and John avoided them as much as he was able to do so. Sadly, everyone had to take those shifts on a rotating schedule, barring emergencies. Unfortunately a case hadn't come up and John had been forced to go in. Late shifts always brought in the worst of things to doctor: odd injuries with equally odd, and generally awkward, stories about how they happened; screaming babies with raging fevers; loads of vomiting; and objects in places they had absolutely no business being. It was a relief to come home to Baker Street at the end of such a shift to get a shower, tuck in to a hot meal- especially if Rose had been cooking- and get a good night's rest.

This relief, however, was to be denied him as John realized as soon as he walked in the door. John heard noises coming from the bathroom, two voices, and what sounded like crying and/or… no, definitely also vomiting. Knowing it had to be either Rose or Sherlock in there, he took a deep breath and resumed his role as doctor.

"Everything all right in there?" John asked, knocking on the door. "Sounds like someone's sick. The doctor is in. Can I help?"

The door cracked open a bit, revealing a surprisingly anxious looking Sherlock. "Panic attack. It's bad," he admitted. "She's made herself quite sick."

Rose, having a panic attack? It had to be in relation to her dance competition the following morning, but that really surprised John. She always seemed so confidant when she danced, making it look so effortless and completely natural.

"What can I do to help?" John asked. "Have you tried to get her to slow down her breathing and stop crying?"

His flatmate sighed heavily. "I'll worry about that when she stops throwing up. One problem at a time John. I'll coax her out when I can."

"I'll get something to settle her stomach. It'll be ready when she is." John closed the door, certain Rose didn't want an audience, and headed for the kitchen.

Sherlock immediately turned his attention back to Rose, kneeling beside her as she continued to sick up into the toilet. He rubbed her back gently, making certain he kept her hair away from her face. "There's really no reason for all this," he murmured. "You're a brilliant dancer and you know it. You always have been. Tomorrow will be your first step into the professional world and you're going to take it by storm. Of that I have no doubt."

"But Mycroft-" Rose started to respond.

"- -Will not be a problem. For all his grumbling about your chosen profession, he truly wants you to be happy and to be good at what you do," Sherlock told her firmly. "Don't allow yourself to think otherwise and don't allow your anxiety to manifest itself so violently. Why didn't you tell me about this earlier today?"

She blushed just a bit, bringing some color to her otherwise ghostly white face. "I was embarrassed."

"That's nonsense. I can't help if I'm unaware there is a problem. Maybe things wouldn't have gotten this far had you not waited so long to come over here and promptly fall apart." He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to scold her too much and upset her further.

"I think I'm done," she murmured. "Help me up, will you? My legs have gone to sleep."

"You've completely exhausted yourself, haven't you?" Sherlock helped her up, steadying her while she rinsed her mouth out and proceeded to carry her into the sitting room.

"I should go home," she protested a little as he settled her on the couch.

"Don't be an idiot. You'll stay here until I'm certain you're finished panicking for the night," Sherlock replied firmly.

"What he said," John added, appearing at the couch. "Doctor's orders. Think you can manage some tea? It's peppermint and will help with the nausea." He looked down at her, his face etched with concern. "You're so pale, love. How long were you all on your own upset? You're exhausted."

She sighed quietly. "Couple hours I suppose. Kept building and getting worse and then I finally came over and had a panic attack."

John leaned down and kissed her forehead before getting the tea from the kitchen. "Drink slowly. Little sips, alright? Feel dizzy at all? Trouble breathing?"

"No; at least not anymore." Rose accepted the mug of tea and began taking careful sips of it, praying the nausea was gone for good. She closed her eyes as she drank, trying to make both her mind and body full relax.

John sat at the other end of the couch to keep a good eye on her, letting Rose rest her feet in his lap. "That's it love, nice and calm. I can almost feel the tension draining out of you. When you're feeling more the thing, I'm getting you some food. Something that won't upset your stomach further."

While John settled on the couch, Sherlock sat on the floor at her side. Almost without realizing he was doing so, Sherlock began gently rubbing her stomach, eyes fixed on Rose despite her own eyes being closed.

The doctor was completely convinced it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. Sherlock was almost an entirely different person with Rose and for some reason it continued to surprise him each and every time John saw those little elements of Sherlock that he'd never let anyone else see.

"What are you doing?" Rose murmured, opening her eyes.

Sherlock paused and looked over at his hand before quickly removing it. A hint of pink crept up his cheeks.

"Were you seriously just rubbing my tummy?" she asked, giving him a curious look.

"Yes. Not good?" Sherlock inquired.

Rose gave him a little smile. "Very good. I was just surprised is all; go on."

"You're twenty in a few weeks," he pointed out. "Too old I think."

"Didn't stop you a minute ago," John chuckled.

"I can't believe you remembered. Ok, I'm not really that surprised you remembered," Rose admitted in response to Sherlock's glare. "Mind palace, I know. But it surprised me that you did it."

"What was it you remembered?" John asked, looking at his flatmate.

"A night a very long time ago, when a very sad and frightened little girl wondered who would rub her tummy when she was sick now that she was an orphan," Sherlock murmured.

John was certain his heart broke just a tiny bit at Sherlock's admission. He could only imagine how frightened Rose must have been after Mrs. Holmes had passed, even if she still had Mycroft and Sherlock to care for her.

"Without missing a beat Sherlock stated that he was plenty capable of rubbing tummies when the occasion called for it," Rose added. "In the most serious of tones, no less, as if it was a matter of very great importance."

"Sherlock, that's… well it's adorable, frankly," John decided, smiling at the other man. "I'm picturing this in my mind's eye right now."

"Oh do shut up John! Keep your sentimental musings to yourself," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh dear, you're embarrassed," Rose teased.

Sherlock scowled at her. "You can shut up as well! See if I ever do that again! Certainly not if I'm going to have words like "adorable" thrown in my face. The level of sentiment in this room right now is appalling."

"You brought it up," Rose pointed out, laughing softly. When she finished laughing she leaned closer to Sherlock and whispered, "I love you; you're very wonderful."

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I love you, too," Sherlock whispered so softly she almost missed it. Despite his protests, his hand returned to her stomach, gently rubbing away the aching soreness.

"Relax, relax," he murmured.

"John, make yourself useful and rub my feet," Rose commented. "After you get me more tea."

"Listen to her, will you?" John laughed. "If I didn't see the smile on your face, I'd be really affronted at your attitude," he teased her. "Silly girl. Did the tea help?"

"I think it is actually. It's very good. I like tea tea when I drink tea, not this sort of thing generally. Lady Grey," she commented. "Or chai."

"Peppermint does wonders for nausea. I always keep a bit of peppermint tea around for just such an occasion. Are you ready for some more? How about food?"

Rose gave him a smile. "More tea would be great. You both are very sweet. I'm quite a lucky girl I think."

The following morning Rose got up with the sun and had far too much to do to have time to panic any further. Sherlock was quite relieved by that, and watched with great amusement as John tried to get her to have breakfast.

"I don't have time for breakfast John! I've got to make sure all my outfits are ready and shower and call Alfred and-"

"And nothing," John said sternly. "I've looked at the program you brought home and things won't break for lunch until 1pm. That's ages from now and you'll never make it if you don't start the day with a good breakfast. Do you want to be sick, today of all days?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "I've packed snacks, I'll eat throughout the day to keep my energy up just like you've been telling me to do for some time now. Isn't that enough? I don't have time to sit down and have a lovely breakfast. Coffee will just have to do."

"If you feel like passing out during your first set, then yeah, that'll do just fine," John retorted sarcastically. "This really isn't an option, in case you weren't aware. You will sit, and you will eat. Put your bum in that chair and tuck in. Do it now!"

"John, good lord, you're so dramatic," Rose sighed. She turned to look at Sherlock, hoping to find an ally.

"Oh do sit down already Rosenwyn," Sherlock said, letting out a sigh of annoyance. "Just do as the man says or he'll be completely insufferable all day. Not to mention the fact that he's right, you do need to eat."

She let out a noise of frustration. "Oh, you're one to talk about eating!"

Sherlock gave her a huge but smug grin. "But we're not talking about me, are we, sister? No, we're talking about you."

"Uh, hello! I'm still waiting for you to sit your bum on that chair," John stated firmly, interrupting the bickering siblings.

"Be a graceful loser, Rose, and sit down," Sherlock told her, raising an eyebrow.

She sat with a huff and scowl, but her scowl diminished just a bit when John leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"Aside from having breakfast, are you nearly ready? Mycroft is sending a car in an hour," Sherlock reminded her.

"Shut up Sherlock, I can't eat and talk and John's going to be all sorts of cross if I don't eat and Mycroft will be scandalized if I get in the car in my dressing gown," Rose stated. She shoved a bite of food in her mouth and gave her brother a proper scowl.

"You shouldn't do that you know," Sherlock replied.

"Do what?"

"Scowl. You're a bit adorable when you scrunch your face up like that. Defeats the purpose a bit…Ow!" Sherlock glared at her, reaching under the table to rub his shin as Rose gave him a satisfied smirk.

"You two are impossible, you know that?" John asked amid laughter.

"We try. It suits us. It's the Holmesian way of saying I love you."

"Kicking your brother is a silent I love you?" John questioned. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded to confirm Rose's statement.

"Well in any case, eat up, the both of you." The look of sheer outrage on Sherlock's face at being ordered to eat sent John into full blown belly laughs.

The venue was pure chaos behind the scenes. Dancers running around the dressing room in all sorts of states of undress, buzzing around getting their hair fixed and make-up done, and Rose had never felt more alive in her whole life.

"Are you ready?" Alfred asked, taking her hand. "Feeling alright? Ready to take the prize home?"

"Yes," Rose said, looking up at him with a smile. "This feels so perfect, like I'm almost at home in a way. I never thought I'd be here and it would feel this good."

"I feel the same," he admitted. "I'm glad we're here together and that you pulled through and are alright. A true survivor, you are. A brave girl."

She hugged him tightly. "You can't even see the little scars on my arms," Rose whispered. "John thinks they'll go away in time, but I wanted to be sure to cover them up a bit so all the attention is on our feet and nothing else."

"They did a nice job on the costumes, you're right," Alfred said with a smile. "I wish you'd stop worrying about those scars, they aren't nearly as bad as you think they are. One hardly notices unless they look for them."

"Well, in any case, I feel quite lovely." Rose looked down at her dress. It was purple, with a bit of beading to make her sparkle and shine, with beautiful gauze sleeves that would be perfect for the elegant Viennese Waltz.

"Did you get our number?"

Alfred nodded and turned around to show her his back. "We're fourteen. That's my lucky number."

"Then we're destined to win," Rose whispered, hoping that would be true.

"Good god, is this really going to go on all day?" Mycroft asked, examining the program in his hands.

"Yes. Clearly if that is what is printed, that is how long it will take," Sherlock said. "You'll stay and you'll pretend to enjoy yourself."

"I'm certain I will enjoy myself, but I didn't take her seriously when she said it was an all day event. I suppose the nation can hold itself together for the space of a day," the eldest Holmes decided. "Hopefully."

The dancers began taking their places on the large ballroom floor and the men turned all their attention to looking for Rose.

"Oh, she has a prime spot there, in the front," John pointed out.

"They'll dance around the floor, all the couples will, but yes, the judges are able to see her," Sherlock said. "Hopefully their eyes will stay with her and Alfred."

The crowd hushed as the first strains of 'The Girl With the Pearl Earring' could be heard. The couples went instantly into hold and began their well practiced choreography. Alfred pulled Rose close and she arched her neck, and properly in hold, they swirled into the middle of the floor. The steps were intricate and beautiful; their lines clean with excellent fluidity.

"She's… far more talented than I realized," Mycroft whispered.

"I've been telling you that for ages. She did all their choreography, you know," Sherlock responded.

The eyes of all three men were drawn to Rose and Alfred, ignoring all the other dancers on the floor, until the music finished and they rose with the crowd to clap and cheer.

"I have to admit I'm impressed," Mycroft stated. "I hope they call her back for the next round." He watched with a smile as Rose waved to the crowd before scurrying backstage to get ready for the next dance.

Forty-five minutes later, after the other brackets of the competition had had their first round, the call backs for Rose's group were announced and their scores placed on the board. "We did it! Alfred, look at that! Twenty-eight out of thirty and our number is called back!" She jumped a bit and threw her arms around him, making him laugh and hold her tight.

The foxtrot was impressive and with the couples down to twelve it was even easier for John, Sherlock and Mycroft to keep an eye on Rose. When callbacks came around again, Rose and Alfred were tied for first place as they took to the floor for their quickstep.

When they finished, John watched in concern as he spotted Rose off to the side, coughing a bit before leaving the floor. "Sherlock, she's coughing. We should go check on her."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

"Because she might be in trouble, that's why," John retorted. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

Rolling his eyes Sherlock got up to follow John backstage and watched his flatmate explain multiple times that one of his patients was a competitor in order for them to gain access.

When they finally managed to make it to the competitor dressing rooms, it seemed to John that every single woman was in some sort of state of undress and it was not only distracting, but it was embarrassing, and his face flushed in response to that embarrassment. It also irked him to no end that Sherlock appeared to be completely oblivious to the half naked women surrounding them.

"John! Sherlock! Bloody hell!" Rose shouted when she spotted them. She quickly pulled a dressing gown on and held it tightly closed. "What are you two doing here? This is the changing room for heaven's sake."

"I saw you coughing out there and was concerned. Are you having trouble breathing at all?" John asked, keeping his eyes focused on her.

"No! Alfred elbowed me as we were exiting and it took the wind out of me," Rose told him. Feeling someone poke at her shoulder, she looked behind her to see another dancer standing there.

"He's pretty," she commented, indicating Sherlock. "He yours?"

Rose vigorously shook her head no. "He's my brother."

The other dancer beamed. "Can I have him then?"

Sherlock looked at the other woman, an eyebrow quirked, and merely said, "No."

"No? Why not? You aren't even looking at my assets are you?" The woman asked.

"No."

John couldn't help but laugh at the look of outrage on the dancer's face at being rejected in such a detached manner by Sherlock.

"Oh for god's sake, get out of here, both of you! John's getting all embarrassed at the half naked girls and having women fawn over my brother is quite frankly disgusting! Both of you out," Rose ordered.

"Can we go now John?" Sherlock asked impatiently. "Some of these women are eyeing me in a rather predatory fashion and it is alarming."

John gave Rose a hug and kissed her cheek. "Best of luck love, you're doing great." When Sherlock made no move, John elbowed him. "Tell your sister she's marvelous and then we can leave."

"You're marvelous, but you already know that," Sherlock told her.

"Oh just get out," Rose laughed. "Seriously, get out!" She shook her head as they made their way towards the exit, cringing at the number of women who tried to get Sherlock's attention as he passed them by.

"Mycroft, you can look now, they've stopped dancing," John said with a chuckle after the final set of dances. "It was a tango, haven't you seen a tango before? They generally all look like that."

"I've seen it plenty of times. What I haven't seen is my sister moving like that while doing a tango and I find it highly inappropriate. Incredibly disturbing in fact," Mycroft grumbled, glaring at the doctor. "She's not old enough to move like that. Not for at least another twenty years."

"Says the man who told me I was going to make her a spinster. You aren't any better than I am," Sherlock pointed out. "You're not, don't fool yourself Mycroft."

The eldest Holmes refused to respond other than glaring at Sherlock.

"I think she's going to win this. She's been neck and neck with that other couple, who aren't nearly as good," Sherlock said, changing the subject.

"Well, these scores will decide it. The judges appear to be taking their time," John added.

"I'm quite impressed with Rose today. I should have taken her more seriously. Don't you dare tell her I said that," Mycroft stated. "I'll completely deny it if you do. She's very good. If this is her first competition and she's scoring this well, who knows how far she'll go."

Backstage, Alfred was holding Rose tightly. "We've done it. I can't believe it. And you, just a month out of surgery," he whispered. "I can't even believe it. We're going to win Rose, I can feel it."

Rose looked up at him with a brilliant smile, feeling more confident than she had in a very long time. "It's like a dream Alfred, I never imagined, not our first competition…"

Their number was called before Rose could finish her thought and hand in hand, she and Alfred went back onto the dance floor with the other couple.

"This was quite a tight competition," the announcer began. "Newcomers and last year's champions going head to head and riding one another's coat tails the entire day. The judges thought long and hard and the difference in the scores is only one single point."

Rose gripped Alfred's hand so tightly she nearly put him on his knees, but Alfred kept a bright smile plastered on his face the whole time.

"And our winner, ladies and gentlemen, is couple 17! Jamie Freeman and Samuel Harrison! Let's give both our couples a round of applause!"

The ballroom erupted in cheers and clapping for both couples, who each took a bow for the audience.

"Oh god, this is going to break her," Mycroft murmured.

Rose's boys looked on with great pride as Rose kept a smile on her face, turned to the winning couple and extended her hand to shake theirs. With a final wave to the audience, Rose and Alfred disappeared backstage.

Backstage, Rose changed into her street clothes and began removing her make-up.

"It's not the end of the world Rose," Alfred whispered. "We should be really proud of ourselves. Second place, among champions who have been doing this a lot longer than we have."

"Second place is the first to lose," Rose whispered. "And Mycroft is going to say 'I told you so' and make me do something else, something he considers a real career, because I've failed at the one I chose."

Alfred sighed heavily. "I'm going to go find my folks. We'll talk later, when you're in better spirits." He gave her a one-armed hug before taking his leave.

With quiet determination, Rose finished removing her make-up and packed up her costumes and other belongings. It took every bit of energy she had left not to start crying right then, but she couldn't do that. She had to hold her head up high and not act like a baby where people could still see her. There would be plenty of time for her tears when she faced Mycroft as the loser he'd predicted she'd be.

Finally, there was nothing left to pack and nothing else to do except leave. Rose took a few deep breaths, and then exited the dressing area to go look for her brothers and John.